As I Lay Dying
by scalion
Summary: "My name is Senka Dubrov. I am sixteen years old. My home is District 7. I was reaped in the 43rd annual Hunger Games. I won't escape." A short one-shot detailing the demise of a tribute in a desert arena. Literary vignette/Character description. This is my first fanfic, so any comments are much appreciated. Enjoy!


**A/N: Hey guys! Thanks so much for checking out my story. This is my first go at a fanfic, so any comments are much appreciated. I know there isn't much of a story told about the girl, but I meant this to be more of a vignette/character description than anything else. If I get a good response from this I may write a full multi-chapter story, on another topic though. Anyway, let me know what you think!**

**Sarah**

My name is Senka Dubrov. I am sixteen years old. My home is District 7. I was reaped for the 43rd annual Hunger Games. I won't escape.

Sweat trickled over her knitted brows as she surveyed the barren landscape. An ever cliché piece of tumbleweed wafted before her. Running a hand through her matted tresses she sank to the ground, letting the heat overcome her. The brittle trunk of the lifeless tree she had used to make her small tarp shelter provided little comfort. What was she thinking? One would have to be of unsound mind to find any contentment from the blazing desert of murder that surrounded her. How she'd managed to get anything from the cornucopia was beyond her.

Her bony hand travelled to her neck, no longer surprised by the slick sheen that coated her skin. It was just so _hot_. Her defeated blue eyes slipped shut as a fresh batch of tears threatened to fall down her grazed and bloodied cheeks.

No.

She mustn't cry.

Don't show then how weak you really are.

Behind the walls of her eyes she imagined home and all its luxuries. Food. The soft scent of pine that was always present the air. _Water_. Even the image was too much. Her throat was sandpaper as it screamed out in desire for the small ration of water that remained in her leather flask. She found it half full close to wear a fellow tribute had fallen. It had been her only lifeline, but now even that was fading away as the days passed. Without water, she would literally dry up and waste away. She imagined the cool fluid snaking down her throat, extinguishing the raging fire possessed within her exhausted body. Attempting to wet her lips, her tongue darted out, slowing as it ran along the hardened and chapped skin. The crevices were lined with dust.

The dust was beyond horrendous. As if on cue and uncomfortable warm breeze swirled, lifting the yellow grit and making it dance around her. She stifled a groan of annoyance. Yet another layer to add to the already abundant amount that covered her like a second skin. It crawled into the cuts that lined her slender legs, causing her face to screw up in pain. A gasp escaped her. The fragile skin of her lips cracked, encouraging the red-hot blood to the surface. Her body slumped against the tree. She was too weak.

Is this how she would die? After she perished from the raging sun would she become nothing but dust? Her lifeless corpse wasting away until she become the yellow sand, floating in the current of the wind, scouting for the cracked skin of another helpless soul. Surely there was another alternative. Maybe the Career pack would find her, and she could die quickly, end her suffering and liberate her from her hellish surroundings.

**_3 days later_**

No food. No water. No will to survive. It was her fault; she'd hidden herself too well. Many a time she had heard rushed footsteps along the brittle ground, voices filled with fear or bloodlust. Her body ate away at itself, trying desperately to preserve what little nutrients remained. She could feel her sunken eyes receding even further into her skull. Senka dared not move. The dizziness would consume her otherwise. Small tremors rippled through her body despite the heat.

This was it. She knew it was her time.

The suffering. The pain. She likened it to a battle. The war between her mind and her failing organs was ongoing. She had fought as much as her frail body could bear. With the last preserves of her life a final shallow breath escaped her dying lungs. She succumbed to the comfort of the darkness, a final tear sliding over her cheek. No more reapings, brutal Careers or Gamesmakers. She was free.


End file.
